but in a metaphysical sense
we are flying future.
How quickly a road recovers when left to itself,

quick progress of rebecoming field,
separating into patches of sawgrass and limestoneólike stepping stonesó
bobwhite returning to trees at the edge of the track.
This is the future we hope and fear,
are in and out,

and we never finished it.
I sucked the water from the tube,
stood up and retraced our steps,
time running backwards:

yes, it can be.
Remember he said, I canít wait to see what itís like on the other side
but didnít we think he was joking.

Anyway, Isobel filled us in: at the end of the road is a den
scraped away underneath some pines
and the panther kittens, retrieved for collars,

have bright blue eyes.
Who could continue on the road
is held by the love
whose teeth chatter in sleep.